


Four Christmas-inspired drabbles

by unbelievable2



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbelievable2/pseuds/unbelievable2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Innocent Bystanders" - Jim is under observation<br/>"Ice-Heart" - Jim is miserable<br/>"Into the Trees" - Jim is zoned<br/>"Blue Ribbon" - Jim is lost</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Christmas-inspired drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> Four under-500 word drabbles written for the lovely The Sentinel Secret Santa 2014 drabble days on Live Journal. One and Three are Gen, Two and Four are Pre-slash

  
** Innocent Bystanders  
(Prompts: “mulled wine, punchbowl, gingerbread”)**

“Is that another two victims?” asked Joel Taggert, pointing down at the street. Two men were walking along the sidewalk – or rather, one was walking, and the other was dancing rather unsteadily in front, sometime dashing back to tug on his companion’s arm, or swinging himself around lamp-posts.  
“Yep, replied Simon Banks drily. “Ellison and Sandburg.”  
“Surely not Jim, too!”  
“No, thankfully he’s designated himself driver this evening.”  
“But Blair’s had a few glasses of that mulled wine, hasn’t he? It’s a killer. Half the department are in there now, incapable, singing songs about pixies…”  
“From the way he’s acting, I think he’s not so much had a few glasses, as dived into the punchbowl and done a couple of quick laps. I wouldn’t like to be Ellison in that Loft tomorrow. He’ll need to call the Hazmat guys.”  
“You know, when Kincaid wanted to take over the PD, he didn’t really need those missiles,” mused Joel. “He could have just got hold of Rhonda’s great aunt’s recipe. And what the hell is Sandburg doing now?”  
The prancing figure in the street was throwing its arms about at regular intervals, clearly scattering something in the snow.  
“I believe,” sighed Simon “he’s intent on laying a trail of gingerbread crumbs in case he can’t find his way back to Major Crimes after Christmas.”  
“Oh, well, he’s not going to get far with that. He’s just fallen over. Think Jim needs some help?”  
“Joel, there are times when it’s right to be a Good Samaritan, and there are times when the only sensible thing to do is get the hell out of Dodge.” Simon shrank back slightly as Jim gave up trying to right the fallen Sandburg and straightened up to scan the windows of the PD. “This is one of those times.”  
Jim was raising an arm to wave….  
“I’m right behind you, Captain,” said Joel.

* * *

**Ice-Heart (prompt: “ice”)**

The bar was a fug of noise, heat and odours - alcohol, spices, women's perfumes and men's colognes, hot bread and fries and roasting meat and the yeast of beer overlaying it all. Jim dialled it down, dialled everything down. He had no wish to participate in what was going on all around him - the glad-handing and the air-kisses and the macho hugs and the stock wishes for a merry and a happy and a prosperous and all the other bullshit that people spouted by rote this time of year. There was no merry or happy as far as Jim was concerned. He hunched over the bar some more and rattled his empty glass on the counter. The bartender appeared, his expression of professional bonhomie ruffled by his irritation at the curmudgeonly bastard snarling for drinks every half hour.

"What'll it be this time, sir? Maybe switch to something a little lighter? I wouldn't want your headache tomorrow, if you carry on the way you are, right now."

Jim's head snapped up and the bartender recoiled a little at the look he was given.

"Only some friendly advice, sir," he protested, trying to mollify. "You don't want it to ruin your Christmas Day."

"You want to keep your advice to yourself and serve me a drink?" Jim dropped his head again and the other man heard a mutter that sounded like. "I can ruin things just fine all by myself." He raised his hands in protest.

"Okay, okay. What's your pleasure?"

"Margarita."

"Margarita? Man, it's five below out there, the worst cold snap for years, and you want a Margarita?"

"And there's a law against that?"

"It's just - well, all that ice, man, sloshing round in your belly. It'll chill you right down on a night like this. It's not sensible. Think how you'll feel!"

"I promise you," - Jim's voice was heavy with resignation - "it won't even make a dent."

The bartender shrugged and went away, muttering to himself.

"As if it's not cold enough. And will people just shut the goddamn door, when they come in?" He raised his voice. "Hey, man, shut the goddamn door, okay?"

The new arrival raised an arm in acknowledgment.

"Just doin' that, okay!"

Jim looked up, staring straight ahead at the mirror over the bar, confused. There was a sea of people in front of him - all shapes and sizes, all colours; a sea of humanity that would overwhelm him and drown him in an instant. The bar was his temporary shelter but he was still going to sink. The one thing that could save him was miles away, out of reach, all connection gone. Jim knew that for certain, because he had made sure of it himself, hadn't he?

And through the crowd someone came threading, until that someone stood at his shoulder, bringing with him the cold clarity of the winter ice.

"Hey, Jim."

The ice in Jim melted, as with a first touch of sun.

* * *

**Into The Trees (prompt: “trees”)**

In the snow, the green pines were almost black. The landscape was weirdly monochrome - a grey sky still pregnant with snow, black stream, black trees, black trail of footsteps making its way through the glistening white carpet. Blair trudged along that same trail. The footprints were well-spaced - he was a tall man - and Blair's own stride couldn't match the distance covered between one piece of compressed snow and the next. But he was making good progress, and he got to the trees long before the sun was due to set.

In amongst the pines, the snow was much lighter, but the detail was still visible, even if here it was crossed by tracks of hare and deer. The footprints seemed to be following the stream, and Blair hoped fiercely that the man hadn't yet crossed over. Beyond the stream the terrain was rockier and that would make the trail harder to follow.

Then he saw him, standing in the snow next to a large boulder at the water's edge, his face slack, his eyes vague. Blair drew a deep breath that was half relief, half irritation. He came closer, stumbling a little down the slope to the stream. He touched Jim's arm.

"Okay, big guy, you can come back now. Seriously, Jim, this is long enough. It's winter, you were only supposed to getting some logs for the fire."

It took some moments, but Blair had learned quickly that merely his presence was often enough to bring Jim back out of a zone. He saw the point his partner surfaced, the way his eyes re-focused and his muscles tensed. Fully aware again, Jim turned and looked down at the man at his side. His eyes were troubled.

"What did I do?"

"Go for a walk. Only you didn't tell me what you were doing. I've been kinda worried, man."

"Army ranger, here, Sandburg."

"An army ranger who zones, remember?"

Jim sighed.

"It was the river. I could hear it and made me want to see where it led. It was making the most beautiful sounds, Chief. I guess it was the ice crystals at the edges. But it was like it was singing to me."

“Don't, Jim. Come on, time to shake yourself out of that, you know how to do it. Don't listen to the song. Come home with me, okay? Time to get you warm. You're freezing. Let me get you home."

Jim stared down at him, still looking confused.

"A cabin, right?"

"Yep, your dad's friend's place, remember? He let us have it for the Christmas break. But it's not supposed to come with free hypothermia."

Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder.

"Okay, Sandburg, lead the way."

They tramped up the slope to the trail again, and retraced their own footsteps out of the trees and back towards where the cabin waited, warm and lit.

* * *

**Blue Ribbon (prompt: “ribbons and bows”)**

"Okay, guys, can we just keep the noise down a little?"

The bullpen riot subsided in an instant, and fifteen shocked faces stared aghast at Simon Bank's unexpected arrival.

"Ah, Captain, you're back." Joel Taggart was the first to recover. "We didn't expect you so soon."

Simon cast a jaundiced eye over the boxes of decorations cluttering Major Crimes.

"Yes, well, unluckily for the DA, she choked on a fish bone, so we cancelled the rest of the meal to let the paramedics get on with their work. Which leaves me the rest of the afternoon to get some work done myself." He glowered. "Like I hope the rest of you will be doing."

"We were just decorating, Captain," offered Rhonda.

"So I see. Well, get on with it and finish it quickly. I don't expect any Detectives to be involved, though. They've got plenty of casework to do."

Blair sidled back to the desk he shared with Jim, and where his partner had been doggedly working away despite the melée around him.

"Dialling-down helps, huh?" he whispered.

"Not as much as you'd think," came the pained reply. And then: "Sandburg, what the hell is that in your hair?"

Blair put his hands up to waggle the bright blue ribbon at Jim.

"Pretty, huh? Nicer than a hair-tie. The girls found this one in amongst the green-and-reds, and said it wasn't a Christmas colour, so they didn't want it. Rhonda tied it in my hair; said it suited me."

"You look like you're at kindergarten."

"So, you don't like it? I though it kinda matched my eyes." Blair waggled his brows at Jim.

Jim cleared his throat.

"I need your help with this computer file, if you can spare me a moment from your beauty régime."

Blair shrugged.

"And a merry Christmas to you, too, man," he muttered, his mind back on the computer print-outs.

But Jim's mind wasn't on any computer print-out, stealing glances as he was at the blue satin bow that glistened in the harsh office lighting, complementing the dark chestnut of Blair's long hair, just begging to be untied, to slip through his fingers and drop to the floor while he ran his hands through those same curls, or to be trailed across a quiescent body. His eyes kept being drawn to the way the blue of Blair's eyes seemed even more intense than usual, every time the satin bow drifted into view as Blair turned his head to look at the computer screen. It was a very long afternoon.

While Jim watched, Blair worked, and after the first few quizzical glances at his partner, did so in silence, and with the ghost of a smile on his lips. As the final version of their report spooled out of the department printer he gave Jim a guileless look.

"You know, now that's done, I feel like letting my hair down tonight."

Jim didn't trust himself to reply.

* * *


End file.
